Savage Angel Read online

  She had to admit, though, the last thing she’d expected to find lurking in the bushes was a commando straight out of Call of Duty.

  Through the trees she could see him—fully decked out in fatigues and camo war paint smeared over every inch of exposed skin. This wasn’t some deer like she’d been hoping, or a wayward gardener harvesting pecans. Whoever this was, he was serious about keeping himself concealed.

  Too bad for him very little could be concealed from the Savitch senses.

  It was second nature to move when her target did, covering what sound she might have made with his movements. She circled behind a reedy clump of photina and ditched her sunglasses for a better view. With the camo war paint covering his face and his hands encased in field gloves, she had no clue what race the intruder was, but if the breadth of his shoulders was anything to go by he was one-hundred-percent, testosterone-driven male. Though he was hunched over in a stance of obvious concealment, she suspected he was at least as tall as her Amazon-like six-foot frame, and there was no way to tell what color hair he had under the military-style brimmed cap he had pulled low over a face she couldn’t see from her vantage point. What she could see was a pair of binoculars being lifted to his face aimed toward the house, and that was all she needed. If this guy was part of the property’s existing security detail, he wouldn’t have to camouflage himself and hide in the bushes.

  This guy was trouble.

  With calm efficiency, Sara slid a hand under her jacket for her custom-made clip-point eight-inch combat knife lying snugly against her back. A well-practiced flick of her thumb worked the snap, and in less than a heartbeat cold steel filled her hand like an old friend. Of all the fighting styles she had mastered over her lifetime, Filipino escrima and its flexibility in the use of handheld weaponry was by far her favorite. It fit her personal style, just as surely as the grip of her knife was made to fit the curve of her hand.

  Now to find out if her opponent approved of it as much as she did.

  Marking the sun so she wouldn’t throw a shadow over the intruder to warn him of her presence, Sara rounded the bush and snuck up behind him in a fluid movement no ordinary human could ever hope to beat. She pressed her front to his back, hooking her left arm under his to lock her hand behind his nape, while the hand holding the knife went right for the throat, laying the flat of the blade against the jugular. He jumped and struggled, then hissed when a flick of her wrist stood the deadly edge of the blade against his skin to slice it like butter.

  “Hey, soldier boy.” Once again pressing the flat of the blade to the wound to show him just how much in charge of the situation she was, Sara spoke into the ear closest to her. “If you’re looking for somebody to play war with, I’m available. Wanna have some fun?”

  A disdainful grunt was the intruder’s answer before he threw his head back, butting it against her cheekbone. Stars bloomed like fireworks before her eyes even as the world went end over end.

  Crap.

  Time slowed to a crawl as Sara focused hard. Damn it all, she’d already screwed up, underestimating this guy by not keeping her vital areas out of striking range. Frigging rookie mistake if there ever was one. No way was she going to follow up that boneheaded move with any more noob idiocy. Her heightened proprioception had always been one of her greatest strengths, knowing where every part of her body was at all times—even when she was upside down and flying through the air. Agility went hand in hand with that, and she had her ceaseless training to thank for her well-oiled response. No one could outdo her when it came to this sort of fighting. No one.

  Soldier-boy had gotten her good by flipping her O goshi-style over his back. He did it at the expense of his own neck as she managed to slice him again, this time more deeply, as she went airborne. But the moment she cleared him and his hold loosened, she executed an acrobatic half-twist that wrenched her free from his grasp and enabled her to land, catlike, facing him and ready to spring.

  “Bad move,” she breathed, expertly flipping the now-bloody knife to lie flat against her forearm for easier, close-quarters slashing. “You’ve now officially pissed me off. I think I’ll take your scalp to make me feel better.”

  “You talk too much, Sara.”

  The stone-cold beat of her pulse stumbled like a dojo beginner. There was only one person who could halt her heart by doing nothing more than saying her name.

  “Gideon?”

  * * *

  Over and over again, his mind went through the last few minutes in slack-jawed amazement. He’d never even heard her. How was that possible? Shit, he’d been waiting for her. And the way she moved just now, twisting in the air so fast she somehow blurred before his eyes... If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he would have sworn that particular little gymnastic trick wasn’t humanly possible.

  Swiping the cap off his head to press it against the stinging wounds he could feel leaking blood down his neck, Gideon watched Sara out of the corner of his eye, and not just because she hadn’t yet seen fit to sheathe her wicked-looking bowie knife. By damn, she was something. He could almost hate the woman for robbing him of his ability to breathe by doing nothing more than just standing in the dappled sunlight. Armed or not, Sara Savitch was a sight to behold and as statuesque as any lingerie supermodel. Long and lanky so that she looked him dead in the eye yet voluptuous enough to make him thankful he’d been gifted with big hands to accommodate those curves, she was every man’s heavy-breathing fantasy come to life.

  But as mesmerizing as her mile-long legs were, he was positively dumbstruck by her face. Though her delicate, English-rose complexion held a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the mink-brown fall of her silk-straight hair and the tilted, almond shape of her dark gray eyes whispered at a long-ago Asian ancestry. Her fine brows slanted up, pixielike, while her cheekbones and wide, sculpted mouth matched the Slavic flavor of her family name. In another lifetime, he’d believed Sara Savitch was a perfect blend of everything good in the world.

  Now he knew there was very little goodness in the world to be found.

  “Okay.” Sara raised her chin, white-hot aggression swarming in her every move. A definite difference from the sweet, shy woman he remembered from a year ago. “I’m confused.”

  “Is that so?” Gideon pressed harder at his wound and felt his pulse against his fingers. Whether through luck or design, she had tagged him perfectly with her blade. Any deeper and his jugular would have sprung a lethal leak. “About what?”

  “What are you doing lurking around your father’s front yard like some deranged creeper? Why are you dressed as one of Rambo’s PTSD flashbacks? And what are you doing back in Texas? I thought you were still overseas.”

  “I’m discharged from active service as of ten days ago, with honors.”

  “Ten days?” The violence raging in her deadly gaze vanished under a touching uncertainty that looked more like the Sara he’d barely had a chance to know. “You’ve been back home for ten days and you didn’t...”

  He frowned when she didn’t continue. “What?”

  “Um.” She chewed on her lower lip and looked down at the knife she held, as if surprised she was still holding it. “Nothing.”

  “And I’m not a deranged lurker or a Rambo flashback.” He loosed a silent breath he hadn’t been aware of holding when she tucked the knife behind her back under her leather jacket. “The reason I’m out here is simple. I was testing you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her expressive dark eyes chilled with a layer of frost, so much so he wondered if he’d get frostbite if she kept glaring at him. “You were testing me?”

  “Is that so impossible for you to believe?” Her incredulous tone grated on nerves already taut enough to snap, and his brows pulled together in a forbidding scowl. “Do you think you’re so good at what you do that no one would dare to question your abilities?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Do you think that because you’re supposedly one of the good guys, you can’t be h
urt? Or that you don’t have any weaknesses?”

  “Anyone stupid enough to buy into their own perfection is a train wreck waiting to happen, so spare me your snap judgments.” She answered his scowl with one of her own, though hers held a bewilderment that made him see an unreasonable red. Bewilderment meant weakness, and that was unacceptable in the job she was supposed to be capable of doing. “I just want to know where you get off testing my abilities when they’ve got nothing to do with you. When I’ve got nothing to do with you, except for...”

  Gideon watched her flush a charming pink, and without a doubt he knew she was remembering their one and only meeting a year ago. That sweet memory was indelibly engraved on his mind as well, as fresh as it was the day before he’d been deployed. But he wouldn’t let himself think of how exciting her nearly soundless moans were, or of her uneven breathing, or the way her nails had bitten into the nape of his neck. His focus now had to be only one thing—getting a hold of this already-uncontrolled situation before it got any worse.

  “I’ve got every reason to test you.” Mouth set in a grim line, Gideon hardened his heart at the fleeting confused hurt in her eyes at his cold tone. “And after your less-than-stellar performance here, I’m not convinced you passed.”

  Chapter Two

  “How’d things go out there?”

  A low growl rumbled from Sara. Sweet little Noah Mandeville was pocket-sized compared to her, so it was probably rude to growl at him like an animal that had never known a rabies shot. But since social skills had never been high on her list of priorities, she didn’t strain herself holding back. If Noah weren’t such a close friend of her father’s and not in the best of health, she might have even considered taking a shot at him for daring to smirk at her like they were all playing a game.

  As far back as she could remember, Sara had never played a day in her life.

  “Fair warning.” Her ground-eating strides came to a sharp halt at the front veranda steps, and she aimed a lethal glare up at where Noah stood while his son Gideon continued on up the steps. When the older man’s amusement blinked out, she allowed herself a small glimmer of satisfaction. “I am a short sixty seconds away from leaving you to deal with whatever problems you have. If you want to stop that from happening, now is the time to be impressive and cough up an explanation for this dog-and-pony show.”

  “You do take after your father, Sara.” Noah was either very brave or very stupid to offer a winning smile. He looked up at Gideon, who had come to stand at his side without acknowledging Sara’s existence. “So? What’d you think about her skills?”

  “I’ve seen better.”

  Another growl escaped her. “Wasting precious seconds discussing how you two set me up to play happy-time Commando out in the front yard isn’t helpful.”

  “I wasn’t playing.” At last Gideon deigned to glance at her, his bloodied cap once again pressed to his neck. “If you think there’s anything playful about being a warrior, you’re in the wrong profession.”

  “So speaks the bleeder who was too slow to get out of the way of my blade.” For an anxious moment she wondered if her pained confusion showed as she drank Gideon in feature by feature. Little wonder she didn’t recognize him. With the camo paint all over his face he’d looked like any soldier ready to storm the high ground. Of course, now that she knew who he was, she could see the dark blond hair cut close and meticulously groomed, the strong neck that went with the rest of his whipcord-lean, muscle-sculpted body, and there was no mistaking those deeply set chocolate brown eyes he usually kept shielded with rimless, solemn-looking glasses.

  But there was another reason why she hadn’t recognized him. The lively dark eyes she remembered so well were now cold and dead, skimming over her as though he didn’t think she was important enough to take the time to actually see.

  Which was stupid, she chided herself while the churning confusion dug deeper. There was no need to feel snubbed or rejected. There was no need to feel anything. It wasn’t like they’d meant something to each other a year ago, or that she’d expected him to be as over-the-top happy to see her, as she was to see him. There had never been any promises between them, just an uncomplicated moment of nuclear-hot stranger sex. That sort of thing was even less important than a one-night stand. Obviously it had meant nothing to Gideon.

  Something hard and acid-hot twisted in on itself in her chest. Just as obviously, in her painful ignorance of the man-woman dynamic, she’d made too much of it.

  Feel nothing, Sara. Feel nothing.

  Gideon shifted the cap against his neck as if the wounds had renewed their sting. “You got lucky.”

  “So did you. I nearly killed you.”

  “For a rent-a-cop you sure think highly of yourself. I may be a medical doctor, but don’t forget—I’m also a trained soldier.”

  Her teeth snapped together. “Who can be killed by a rent-a-cop just as easily as any ordinary civvie. Or do you think your military training has made you invulnerable?”

  Something flickered in his eyes before he looked away in clear dismissal. But before he could come up with an appropriate rejoinder, his father glanced at him. “My, my. Tagged you, did she?”

  “She likes sharp objects.” His shrug made it seem like she’d accidentally poked him with a nail file. Generations of Savitches reared up in outrage, and her lips curled in a dangerous snarl.

  “I am a sharp object. I should be handled with care, and only by an expert. That’s not you.”

  “Your memory is far different from mine. In every way, I know how to handle you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash off the war paint.”

  “And I need to leave.” Fuming at both his comment and the color she could feel flooding her cheeks, Sara turned on a booted heel. “Your sixty seconds are up.”

  “Sara, I know this was unconventional, but for some reason this was how my son wanted to play it.” There was genuine remorse in Noah’s tone as he held up a staying hand. “Your father can vouch for my being a straight-shooter, so for me to agree to set you up for something like this, you have to know there’s a good reason behind it.”

  She just managed to swallow a scoff before leveling a hard glance Noah’s way. “I’m going to make this as clear as I can. I don’t play games.”

  “Of course. No more games.”

  “There shouldn’t have been any to begin with.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what this is all about, or why I made you jump through all these hoops?”

  Sara’s mouth tightened. Yes, damn it. She was eaten alive with curiosity. From the moment she’d realized it was an elaborate setup, her one burning desire had been to get to the bottom of it.

  No. That wasn’t quite right. Her one burning desire had looked at her like he didn’t even know who she was.

  “The front porch is no place to conduct business.” With a sweeping gesture back toward the house that bespoke of generations of southern hospitality, Noah smiled. “Let’s get in out of the heat and have a civilized discussion, shall we? I’ll do my best to make it interesting for you.”

  Sara’s temper didn’t begin to cool until she was ensconced in the formal living room, complete with oxblood leather sofas, a chandelier she suspected was Swarovski, and an oil painting that may or may not have been one of Raphael’s original angelic works, over a fireplace with a marble mantel that had winged cherubs along its columns. Ostentatious wasn’t exactly her thing, but even she could appreciate her plush surroundings as she seated herself, a glass of iced tea in hand.

  “So.” With the renowned Savitch poker face locked in place, she looked to Noah. “Now would be the time for you to make me happy I chose to stay.”

  “Unfortunately I’m the source of all the hoopla,” Noah said, looking mournful as he settled into a wing-backed chair that would have looked great in a posh English manor. “As you might recall, I went through some surgery this past winter. You were kind enough to keep me company through the worst of it.”<
br />
  “If this is your way of saying thank you, you’re doing it wrong.”

  He chuckled, a deep, appreciative sound. “I’ll give this much—you say exactly what’s on your mind and don’t care who knows it.”

  “A Savitch trait. One of many that I possess.”

  “I know. And that’s one of the reasons why I wanted you to meet with me today.” He rubbed a bony hand over his chest, an absent gesture she knew traced the scar his surgery had left behind. “Six months ago I was dying of heart failure. I had a bad ticker and I needed a new one. Providence stepped in and provided one. As sad as it is that a life was lost, several lives were saved when the parents of a young woman allowed her organs to be donated. Every day since, I’ve given that family my thanks.”

  “You were in pretty bad shape back then.” Sara looked back in the past, remembering how much she’d wanted to question Noah about Gideon—where he was, what he was doing. When he was coming back. “When the donor heart became available, it worried me that you were alone. My father was away and Gideon was stationed somewhere in Afghanistan. You’ve been a good family friend, and I wanted to be there for you.”

  “Another Savitch trait—your protective instincts guide your every step.”

  “You know better than most that it’s in our blood to be protective.”

  Noah nodded in understanding, and he glanced at the angelic painting over the mantel. “You saw me through the worst of it, even though I’m more like a stranger to you. And now, instead of repaying you for all your kindnesses, I’m going to make my debt to you that much worse by asking for your help concerning a matter stemming from that time in my life.”

  “I’m still against this.”

  They both turned as Gideon entered. The camo paint and fatigues were gone, replaced by jeans and an open-collar white shirt that almost—but not quite—covered the thick gauze he’d secured over the slashes she’d decorated his neck with. Rimless glasses perched on his nose, lending him a studious appearance, and the muted gold in his hair glinted in the sun that flooded in through the two-story bay window. At first glance he seemed relaxed and at home, but Sara had to stifle a shiver at the dead coldness in his eyes as he regarded the room at large.